


Fortune

by uumuu



Series: Fortune [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Established Relationship, F/F, Kissing, Polyamory, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-12 23:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5686417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not everything is truly lost after the War of Wrath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fortune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Talullah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/gifts).



“You've found him? You've really found him?” Galuves shouted, coming running up the hill towards the largest tent in the encampment. 

Hithfaer strutted towards the taller woman with a triumphant grin on her face, her arms stretched out in welcome. Mineth followed close behind her, more composed, but with and undeniable glimmer of joy in her bright silver eyes.

“I did, may the life of the Earth be blessed,” Hithfaer said, firm and loud, loud enough that the surrounding woods and hills should hear and echo with the cry that she had found her husband again. 

Galuves tossed her bow and quiver from her shoulders and threw herself in Hithfaer's arms, hugging her close, regaining enough of her breath to ask, “his brother?”

Hithfaer pulled back and turned her head from right to left, once, a peremptory gesture that she would not discuss the matter. “Gone.”

Galuves looked over Hithfaer's shoulder at Mineth. Mineth murmured a greeting in her still faintly accented Sindarin and came forward, stretching up to kiss her on the lips before circling her waist with her left arm and Hithfaer's with her right. 

Galuves lifted both hands to wipe the tears that threatened to spill from the corner of her eyes. She had never cried in centuries of defeats and loss, but had nearly fallen over upon her return from the hunt, as Gilrínel announced to her that her brother-in-law had been brought back. Relief, fortune truly turning in her favour for a change, was something she was unused to. She steadied herself with a deep breath, and strew her arm over Mineth's shoulders. 

They made an odd, badly-assorted trio: Hithfaer, short and dark-haired, with a wide, plain face; Galuves tall and heavy; and Mineth with her lithe grace, pitch black hair and glowing eyes. Fate had thrown them together in the footsteps of their husbands' Doom, and they had walked its path to the very bitter end. Now they had no home to go back to, and kept moving from temporary camp to the next, careful to always keep a safe distance from all other elven groups. 

Galuves hadn't believed that Maedhros and Maglor could ever be found again, Mineth had tried to school herself to indifference. Hithfaer had made it a point of pride not to let the men whose allegiance she had chosen be lost. Therefore, after they had found a suitable spot where to stop for a while, she had dispatched all the warriors under her direct command – including all her surviving scouts – to comb the beaches and forests of the new, diminished north-west. 

“How is he?” Galuves asked, her eyes leaping to the tent. 

“Battered. Thin as a stick, probably went several days without food. But he will recover, once he's had proper rest. He's sleeping now.” Hithfaer let go of Galuves and headed towards the tent. “Come, you must be tired yourself. Did the hunt go well?”

Galuves nodded. “Game is abundant in the hills, all animals from Beleriand must have taken refuge around here,” she said, and followed the older woman, walking hand in hand with Mineth.

The tent, made of strong, seemingly imperishable Valinorean leather, bore the fire-flower on its flaps. It had been Fëanor's own tent, diligently preserved over the centuries and used by his sons. Inside, Maglor was laid out on a bed made of the soft creamy furs of the white bears of the north, behind winter mantles hung up as a curtain – the king's bedroom. Galuves and Mineth peeked inside it, while Hithfaer arranged for her attendants to bring heated water for the Galuves's bath. 

Maglor lay with his eyes closed. A cut ran blood-red down one side of his forehead, and his left arm was bandaged. As Hithfaer had said, he was fearfully thin, his sharp cheekbones looking even sharper than usual. There was very little resemblance between him and Caranthir, at first glance at least: the small similarities in their appearance and bearing had become evident to Galuves only after Caranthir's death. She glanced sideways at Mineth, at her lustrous eyes.

“You must be very happy.” 

Mineth smiled weakly. “I knew him before I even knew my husband. Having him back, at least, is a consolation and a...source of strength to me. ” 

Mineth's marriage had not been made of love and passion, but she had been friends with Curufin, and their parternship had been deep and true. Galuves thought it was a blessing that she, like Hithfaer, hadn't really had an intimate relationship with her husband. She lifted Mineth's hand and kissed it, then held it with both of hers. “...you have us.”

“Oh I know," Mineth softly said, "and I am infinitely grateful for that.” 

They retreated silently, though there was no risk Maglor would wake up, since he had been sedated with plenty of poppy-seed. 

Hithfaer's attendants were hauling a small wooden bathtub already filled with warm water into the tent, and set it down next to the chair where Hithfaer herself had already laid out a change of clothes for Galuves. Once the attendants had left, Mineth and Hithfaer both helped Galuves get rid of her dirty hunting gear.

“We shall be quick, we have more to...discuss.”

Galuves gave Hithfaer a quizzical look, but Hithfaer said no more, grasped Galuves's arm instead to help her step into the bathtub. 

The bathtub was only large enough for Galuves to sit cross-legged in it, and the warm water barely reached to her breasts, but she soaked in it gladly, and let out a long sigh. Hithfaer knelt behind her, and undid her braids to brush her flow of large ashen-blond curls. Mineth took a clean cloth, dipped it in the water, and began sliding it all over her shoulders, her back, her chest, lovingly caressing her breasts and down between her legs. 

Galuves closed her eyes, relaxing into the familiar touch. She, Hithfaer and Mineth had made the most of their closeness since the early days of their acquaintance on the shores of lake Mithrim, quickly growing from sisters-in-law with very different backgrounds into friends and from friends into lovers. Mineth said it was the proof that not everything the Oath had set in motion had been tainted with evil. 

“What will we do now?”

“Wait for Maglor to recover, then leave these regions. I say our best chance to find a place to settle is to travel back east,” Hithfaer cheerfully said. She set the comb aside, and began to braid Galuves's hair again.

“All the way to where we came from?”

Hithfaer continued her task in silence, twisting her lover's tresses into a large braid that thinned out at the end. When she was done she patted Galuves's head, as a yes. “Morgoth is gone, and _we_ are much much stronger than we used to be.”

“I would like to see the place of our birth,” Mineth mumbled.

Galuves frowned slightly, but before she could object that no matter what tales were told in Valinor, nobody knew exactly where the Quendi had first awoken, Mineth fondled her breasts, giving both her nipples a quick squeeze. Galuves re-opened her eyes to Mineth's arch beautiful face. She grabbed her right arm and yanked her down, capturing that wily mouth of hers in a fierce kiss.

Hithfaer chortled. “Up now, my dear. We will have time for love later.” 

Galuves rose to her feet, though frowning again. “Why such a hurry?” she asked, beginning to grow impatient at Hithfaer's crypticness. 

“No hands unclean it was, I believe,” lilted Hithfaer as she walked over to the small travelling chest standing on one side of the tent, among bags and weapons. 

Galuves scoffed. It wasn't dirt which stained their hands. Sometimes she did wonder if she would have still decided to marry Caranthir and link her people with his, knowing where their marriage would end, but didn't dwell on the answer: it had been the best possible choice at the time. She let Mineth wrap her in a towel and dab her dry, but didn't get dressed, seized as she was by lively curiosity. 

On top of the chest stood a lump covered with a clean but worn rag. Hithfaer lifted it, and Galuves had to take a step back to ward off the overspill of light that filled her eyes. 

“For heaven's sake,” she swore, “it's -”

“A Silmaril.” Hithfaer clicked her tongue, then smiled wide, a cocky smile that lit up the whole of her face. “Maglor had it, when they found him nearly unconscious on the beach.”

Galuves came forward again, extending a hand towards the gem. Before she could touch it, Hithfaer stopped her.

“Careful, it feels about as hot as a live ember,” she warned, “but you can hold it.” She folded the cloth, and wrapped the Silmaril in it as she might have a newborn baby. “I wager it would gall the mighty Valar not a little, to know that this handful of forsaken elves, _Úmanyar_ and _Kinslayers_ are now the holders of this much coveted light.”

Galuves accepted the bundle, stared at the gem in awe and simple curiosity, then dragged her knuckles over its surface. It was velvety to the touch, wonderfully smooth, and enticing like the sweet-smelling pulp of a mature fruit. She turned towards Mineth. For the first time she understood her determination in wanting that treasure back, the terrible hankering in Caranthir's black eyes for that material fragment of his father's soul. She also understood why nobody would want to be parted from it. 

“It _is_ hot,” she absently whispered, turning her hand and risking to touch the Silmaril with the pads of her fingers. “Should we really –”

“Oh, my beloved Galu,” Hithfaer laughed, “yes it is scorching, so what? I won't stop handling fire because it might burn me!”

**Author's Note:**

> The only possible scenario in which Caranthir and Maglor are married for me is one where their marriages are political marriages which happen in Beleriand, and that's the background of this story. Mineth means 'the first one' (female), Hithfaer 'mist spirit' (non gender-marked), and Galuves 'blessedness/good fortune wife', which is the name she came to be known by after marrying Caranthir (I picture a culture where people have a 'secret' name that's seldom revealed to others and go by other names depending on their roles/circumstances).
> 
> Úmanyar = those not of Aman, in Quenya.


End file.
